


Training Lassie

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: Blindfolds, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Handcuffs, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because if Carlton is going to be Shawn's detective, he's going to be a good one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Lassie

Carlton arches, his head thrown back against the soft pillows on his bed, groaning as Shawn slides more of his erection into his mouth. He digs his heels into the sheets, pushing to try and give him more leverage. Shawn allows him a small roll of his hips before he grips his hip warningly hard, settling him back on the bed. Carlton wraps his fingers around the metal chain connecting the handcuffs, desperately wishing he could have his hands in Shawn's hair, urging him to do more than tease him.

He tugs at the cuffs, the metal sliding over the wood of the headboard. Shawn chuckles, the noise vibrating around him. Carlton's hips reflexively thrust up against Shawn's hold, managing to give himself a very small slide on Shawn's tongue before Shawn pushes him down again. Only Shawn follows him this time, his nose brushing the dark curls around the base while the tip of Carlton's erection slides down his throat. Shawn swallows around him, all wet, tight heat for a brief moment. Carlton sees stars, his eyes snapping closed as he forces himself not to thrust up and gag Shawn.

A shock of cold air makes him groan unhappily, pushing his hips up, desperately pleading for relief. Shawn's tongue presses against the underside, tracing its way up. He breathes warm air over the tip, and Carlton feels his erection twitch as he grips tighter onto the handcuffs. Shawn speaks, his voice low, the words wrapping warmly around him even though they don't make sense to Carlton right away, "Tell me what I took off your desk."

It takes Carlton a moment to register what Shawn actually said. He's slept with Shawn enough to know that his extremely vocal and expressive personality is not at all hindered when he's fucking or being fucked by Carlton. Still, Shawn usually knows what sort of demands belong in the bedroom and which don't. Carlton doesn't understand what Shawn's asking of him and manages to ask, "What?"

"This morning," Shawn says, the words humming against him as Shawn mouths at his shaft. "I took something off your desk. Tell me what it was."

"Shawn," he starts to protest, but Shawn's free hand curls around him, his mouth closing over the tip and sliding down to meet his fingers. Carlton blinks his eyes open to look at Shawn kneeling over him, most of his balance put on the hand holding Carlton down. Shawn presses his tongue at the sensitive flesh just beneath the head, and Carlton writhes in a small wiggle as he frantically tries to move his body. Shawn shouldn't be strong enough to hold him captive, but somehow – between his grip and his mouth and the handcuffs and his smirk that should be impossible with the stretch of Shawn's lips around him – he is.

Shawn moves his mouth away for a moment, his jaw shifting as he gives it a break. Carlton doesn't get relief as Shawn starts stroking him, his fist tight around him and giving Carlton exactly what he wants. Shawn even lets up on the pressure holding Carlton down, allowing him to thrust up into his stokes with what little leverage he has.

Carlton's getting close when Shawn suddenly stops. He wraps his fingers tightly around the base, pushing Carlton's climax back. Carlton bites down a pathetic whine as Shawn pushes him down again. "Tell me," Shawn urges him gently.

"Why?" Carlton keeps the whimper out of his voice through sheer force of will, but it isn't easy. He just wants to come. He wants Shawn to make him come. It shouldn't really be that complicated, but it _is_ Shawn. What did he really expect?

Shawn's breath rushes warm over the head, the flutter of his lips occasionally brushing him. "Because. If you tell me, I'll get you off." Carlton looks down at Shawn who places a peck of a kiss to the tip. He lifts his head to look up at Carlton, precome glistening on his lips. "If not..." He shrugs, looking disinterested and bored and god knows that's the last thing Carlton wants.

"Shawn, I can't."

"You can." Shawn's voice drops warningly, "You _will_."

Carlton swallows dryly at Shawn's devious smirk. He feels words crowding in his throat, but he doesn't bother voicing them. If Shawn wanted him to beg, Shawn would have told him to beg. Shawn's had him begging, humiliated, turned on and denied, and Carlton has loved every second of it and every second more when it's him growling orders and Shawn following them with an obedience that Carlton almost misses when they're outside of this. The one thing he knows for certain is that Shawn's rules in here – unlike in every other aspect of his life, perhaps out of Carlton's need for order and structure – are absolute. Carlton could beg, could open his mouth or his legs and let Shawn use him as much as he pleases, but unless he answers the question, he's only going to be getting intimate with his hand. If Shawn will even allow him that.

"Close your eyes and think." Carlton obeys, but it's hard to think about anything when Shawn's mouth is dipping down around him yet again. Shawn moves his constricting fingers away, sinking down and up again, taking most of Carlton into his mouth. Carlton tries to picture his desk, and he does. But he imagines his hands gripping the edge, told to stay there while Shawn blows his mind. Shawn may be the one on his knees, but he's also in total control. He makes Carlton beg for it in front of his coworkers. Helpless to do anything except stand there and let them see how desperate he is. How Shawn owns him. Carlton flushes and moans.

"Naughty Carlton." Shawn's fingers are back to forming a rudimentary cock ring, pushing his climax back. Carlton does whine this time, wriggling to try and get friction and get himself off, not caring about the game. Just wanting. He pulls against the handcuffs, trying futilely to break free of them. "Think." Shawn's teeth close lightly, just lightly, on the tip. He's careful, gentle, delicate, the scrape no more than a hint of pressure or pain, but it's enough. Carlton stops moving instantly and lets Shawn bring him down again. "Focus."

Okay. Carlton breathes deeply. He can do this. Shawn showed up at the station that morning, had come over to Carlton's desk. Draped himself over Carlton's shoulders, fiddled with his tie, rubbed his hand gently across Carlton's chest. Needs to be warned about the PDA again. If Carlton has to tell him one more time, he's gonna-

_gonna-_

He's trying to think, trying to keep hold of it, but the memories are so far away from Shawn and Shawn's mouth. Out of his reach thanks to the need that has him trembling slightly as he tries to hump the air because Shawn is a fucking evil mastermind and let him fall out of his mouth again.

Carlton opens his eyes and looks down, but whatever scathing words he has die on his lips as he looks at Shawn. He's just as turned on and desperate as Carlton is. The hand that's no longer holding him down is wrapped lightly around Shawn's own flushed erection, jerking in a way that has to be too soft to get off on. Shawn's hand twists on his own erection, and he buries his head against Carlton's thigh with a moan, biting down sharply to muffle the sound. Carlton gasps – maybe yelps just a little – which has Shawn chuckling breathlessly.

" _Please_ ," Shawn pleads and kisses the red mark that he just made.

He can do this. He can so do this. Shawn fiddled with his tie. O'Hara and Guster started walking towards Carlton's desk. Shawn leaned up quickly so they wouldn't get caught, and he had something tucked against his palm, something Carlton had noticed but couldn't see because he was too busy keeping an eye on O'Hara, hoping she hadn't seen them together.

Shawn's mouth presses hot against him, and Carlton bites his lip to keep all sorts of pretty pleading noises from spilling out. Shawn groans softly against him, and Carlton tries so hard to focus and remember. He didn't see Shawn pick it up, but he had to have noticed if something went missing. His desk is his fortress. He would know if something was out of order.

It's close, on the tip of his tongue, but Shawn sighs, sounding disappointed. He gives Carlton's shaft a quick kiss and starts to pull away. Carlton blurts, "The thing."

"The thing?" Shawn laughs softly, nuzzling Carlton's poor erection that twitches like it still has some hope that Carlton can get this right even if he doesn't think he can.

"The _thing_ , Shawn," he repeats, trying not to sound needy and desperate and failing in every possible way. He needs Shawn to understand because he knows what it is now, but the words just aren't there. "You..." He breathes deeply and silently thanks Sweet Lady Justice that Shawn isn't trying to overstimulate him while he collects himself. "You use it to... to remove staples."

He opens his eyes and looks down at Shawn, hoping against hope that he got it right. Shawn beams brightly at him, "Good, Lassie."

Before Carlton can respond, Shawn's mouth is around him, sucking him down while his tongue flattens against the underside of his erection. Shawn gives him the freedom to make small thrusts into his mouth, but he's careful not to get too rough. Shawn would let Carlton hurt him – and god it's tempting right now – but some part of Carlton insists on knowing better.

His testicles start to tighten, and he knows he's getting so very, very close. Carlton manages to delay his own release – which he's fucking earned by this point – by panicking that Shawn's not going to let him come at all. That all of this was an excuse to make Carlton play some ridiculous game of touch and tease before Shawn leaves him hard and wanting.

Shawn moans around Carlton's erection as he slides down as far as he can go, his nose buried in the curls of Carlton's pubic hair, and some part of Carlton's brain realizes that _he's not going to stop_ as Shawn swallows tight around him. Carlton barely manages to warn him before he bucks off the bed with a shout, coming down Shawn's throat.

For a moment, Carlton's mind floats, content and light, tethered to the world only by the warm body nearby and the cuffs around his wrists. He feels rather than hears Shawn coughing and slowly brings himself out of his relaxed state. "Shawn?"

"Damn, Lassie," his voice is rough, but he's laughing rather than sounding upset. "Could use a little more warning next time."

"Sorry." He frowns. "I..." He pauses and considers, feels himself flush in embarrassment and shame because he should know to trust Shawn by now. "I thought you were going to stop. I wasn't thinking." There's no excuse, he knows that, and he's already kicking himself enough for it that when Shawn frowns at him, it's almost too much.

"You gave me what I wanted. Why would I?" He crawls up Carlton's body and presses a kiss to his jaw.

"Because," Carlton reasons as Shawn reaches for the nearby key to unlock the handcuffs. "You're diabolical. Evil." Shawn straddles his chest and takes his time rubbing Carlton's wrists gently. The handcuffs are padded; Shawn still worries.

When he's satisfied, Shawn puts Carlton's hands on his thighs, drawing Carlton's attention to Shawn's needy erection. "Evil? Me?" He smiles innocently, but Carlton's not fooled.

"Always." He rubs his thumbs in tantalizing circles until Shawn's slightly rolling his hips, silently begging for more. "You've been a bad boy, Shawn." Shawn rocks forward with a breathy moan.

\-----

"Hand me your tie." Carlton's breath shudders out of him as he obeys, loosening the tie Shawn mocked mercilessly earlier today and holding it up for him. Shawn meanders across the room at his own pace, plucking the tie up and giving it his full attention. Carlton knows Shawn's smirk is directed at him, but that doesn't stop it from stinging when Shawn doesn't even give him a second glance.

Carlton's down on his knees for the ungrateful bastard, the least Shawn could do is give him a little bit of attention. Instead Shawn circles lazily around him, one hand coming down to pat gently at the top of his head. Carlton grumbles and glares up at him, but the icy glance Shawn gives him is enough to make his eyes lower and head bow in silent submission.

He sees the tie briefly in front of his eyes before it blinds him. Shawn ties it tight enough that it won't go anywhere. "What should I do to you, do you think?" Shawn's voice is low, teasing, and Carlton answers automatically.

"Whatever you want."

Shawn laughs, and it sounds harsh and cruel and so unlike Shawn's usual carefree warmth. Carlton swallows. Shawn's in character which means anything could happen, and Carlton's blinded, unable to be prepared for whatever Shawn intends to throw at him. Something hot shoots down Carlton's spine, leaving a warm tingling all over his body in its wake. "You make it sound like that's not what I always do, Lassie." Shawn's fingers are in his hair, tugging him harshly back until he's forced to bend his back. Carlton pushes his hips forward with a small groan. He's half-hard already, and it's only getting worse with everything Shawn does.

He stops hearing the patter of Shawn's sneakers, but Shawn's voice doesn't stop moving. "Already hard for me?" Carlton imagines the twist of Shawn's smirk, widening as Carlton shifts his knees apart. He opens his mouth to answer, but Shawn stops him. "No. Let me see for myself."

Carlton bites down on his tongue, shuddering at the press of Shawn's sneaker to his groin. The cloth of his slacks and underwear pull tight around his erection, and his eyes close beneath the blindfold. Carlton tries to open his legs wider, pushing his hips pleadingly forward. Shawn chuckles, the toe of his sneaker tracing up the line of Carlton's shaft with enough pressure that Carlton sees stars.

When Shawn pulls away, Carlton leans forward, head down, panting quietly. Putting on a show because if Shawn thinks he's already getting desperate, he'll speed whatever sweet torture he has planned along. But he's never been good at lying, and Shawn reads him like he's an open book.

"Not getting off that easy." Shawn informs him. Carlton feels sudden heat pressed against his back, Shawn's hands untucking his shirt and the t-shirt beneath. Carlton tries to arch back into him, but Shawn ignores him. His hands are quick, impersonal, opening up Carlton's slacks and dragging them and his underwear down around his thighs. Carlton feels air rush over his now exposed skin, his erection straining heavily between his legs. Shawn pulls away from him.

He hears one of the dining room chairs scraping across the wooden living room floor. "Don't drag the chair," he mumbles, just knowing that there's going to be new scratches on the floor.

Shawn's voice cracks though the air like a whip. "Did I say you could talk?" 

He should shake his head, take the warning for what it is. But, well. As Shawn has never been shy about pointing out, Carlton's not always the brightest. "Didn't say I couldn't." He hears the chair drop back on all fours just to the left of him. Shawn's hand quickly grips his jaw, his thumb pressing painfully into his cheek until Carlton opens his mouth.

"You know the rules. Don't pretend you don't." Carlton does. The rules are absolute once they've been voiced in the scene. That system honestly helps Carlton, keeps reminding him of what is expected of him without having to guess at Shawn's shifting moods or inclinations. And it helps keep his blood pressure from skyrocketing when Shawn's short attention span has him forgetting even the basics. He really thinks Shawn does it on purpose. To make Carlton's grip tighter and growls rougher while he takes his time fucking Shawn into the mattress.

Shawn dips his thumb into Carlton's mouth, prying him open. Carlton gives the thumb a small lick and opens without resisting. He expects the sound of a zipper, is listening so keenly for it that when Shawn speaks, he rocks back in surprise."Hold out your hand." Carlton's hand shakes slightly when he lifts it from its place on his thigh. He holds it out and feels a dollop of lotion land in his palm. Shawn orders in a low voice, "Touch yourself."

The familiar touch of his hand is jolting because of the blindfold, startling him as his fingers quickly reorient themselves. His cheeks, ears, and neck are warm with embarrassment as he starts stroking himself. He's done this before in front of Shawn, of course, but Shawn is usually involved. This is different. This is invasive and humiliating, Shawn's thumb in his mouth while he holds Carlton's chin and watches. Those keen, all-seeing eyes on Carlton's hand as his slow pace starts to speed up.

Or he could not be watching at all. Shawn could be looking at something else with haughty disinterest in Carlton. Looking at something more interesting – the television, Carlton's mind supplies even though he knows it's not on, but the thought makes him groan softly, his grip tightening.

He rocks his hips forward on accident and freezes when Shawn's thumb moves, thinking that it's meant to be disapproving. His thumb brushes over Carlton's lips, but Shawn remains silent. Carlton thrusts into his hand with Shawn's unspoken permission. If Shawn wants him to get off like this, then he may as well go for it.

"Someone's missing from your wall of sworn enemies." Shawn lets go of him and stands, his footsteps headed towards the wall in question.

Carlton ignores him. He continues jerking off, rolling his hips forward. Shawn snaps, unquestioned authority, "Hands and knees, Carlton." Carlton groans in frustration but falls forward, palms flat on the ground. It takes some pressure off his knees, but his erection is the part of him that needs relief. "I said someone is missing. Tell me who."

He clenches his teeth and answers, his voice rough, "Despereaux."

"No," Shawn says, sounding impatient and angry. "You took him down when we started sleeping together to make me feel better." The accusation is true, unspoken until now. Carlton nods, breathing hard, not faking his desperation now. "I took one of them down before you got home. Which one is it?"

"I don't know." He didn't look at the wall, didn't have enough time before Shawn was ordering him down and to take off his tie before blindfolding him and oh _fuck_ he planned this. Carlton rocks slightly forward on his hands, his head reeling because Shawn planned this which means that he probably planned the last time, too. Which means this is probably going to happen again because Shawn doesn't do repeat performances unless it's something he really enjoys.

"Yes. You do." Shawn's footsteps bring him in front of Carlton again. "And if you don't, you're not going to get off for a week." It's an idle threat. Shawn can barely keep his hands to himself for the endless days when Carlton has a time-consuming case. But the steel in Shawn's voice makes Carlton wonder.

He tries to think, maybe he saw a glimpse of the wall before the blindfold went on. But if he did, he still can't remember. "Why?" He asks, his head bowed, body trembling with frustration as his brain gives up the fight. "Why are you...?" He can't finish the thought, bites and licks his lips instead.

Shawn shows him mercy, his fingers running gentle through Carlton's hair before his lips press against his forehead. "Because," he says softly, "if you're going to be my detective, you're going to be a good one."

A shudder runs through Carlton. This conversation shouldn't be happening here. They should be cuddled together on the couch, lazing, content with each other. With one of them whispering quietly that they'd like to be something more than kinky fuckbuddies.

Instead, it's happening now, with Carlton blindfolded and on his hands and knees, precome leaking onto the floor while Shawn demands softly, "Tell me who's missing from the wall."

He tries, but he doesn't know. "I can't."

"Yes. You can." Shawn's voice turns derisive, cold, "I could have done it by the time I was seven."

Shawn's also somehow a lot better at Carlton's job than Carlton is. He feels that the odds are probably unfairly stacked against him. But still, he swallows and tries to think over his arousal, rocking back and forth slightly as if it'll make him remember something he didn't see. He shouldn't compete with Shawn, but he can't help it. And losing this badly is going to bruise his ego in a way that's a bit more significant than Shawn's domination of him.

Shawn's sneaker presses between his shoulder blades, and he murmurs, "Down." Carlton obeys, his ass sticking in the air, erection swinging between his legs as he presses his forehead to the cool floor between his hands. His slacks slide down around his knees, brushing him on accident. The touch makes him moan, pressing his lips to the floor to muffle the noise. He's pathetic enough. Giving more to Shawn feels impossible.

Shawn walks over and Carlton hears a small scrape and remembers the chair from the dining room. "Touch yourself, but don't come."

Carlton needs something to distract him from the sudden everything and obeys. His fingers slick with precome, making his grip glide as he fucks his hand slowly. He keeps the pace agonizingly slow, unforgiving of his own shortcomings which is why he's obeying Shawn's order to torture himself in the first place.

It doesn't take long before he feels submerged, light and free even though he knows Shawn is there. Watching him or not, waiting to see if Carlton obeys his orders or really, truly gives up now before he's even really begun. Carlton moans softly, losing himself in the slide of his hand, his hips rolling into his strokes.

In the memory of Shawn's lips pressed against his, a gentle welcome home after a long day at work. A murmured "On your knees" with enough edge for Carlton to obey. Shawn smiling down at him, his hand cupping Carlton's cheek. The wall behind him is missing a picture, a ring of dust around where it's been up for over a year.

Somewhere, distantly, he hears himself say, "Nikolai Kaminski."

"Yes." Shawn sounds breathless. In a moment, Shawn's hand is around him, his lips pressing a warm kiss against his spine.

Carlton arches and moves his hand back to the floor, letting Shawn stroke him at his own pace. He orders, "Come," and Carlton does. 

He moans through the aftershocks, grateful for Shawn's arms that ease him down on his side. Shawn removes his blindfold, light flooding his eyes almost painfully. He tosses the tie to the side and lays down on the floor next to Carlton, pressing warm kisses to his neck and jaw. Shawn holds him until Carlton slowly turns his head, kissing Shawn's mouth gently, weakly as if his climax knocked all of his strength and energy out of him.

"All right?" Shawn asks gently, nervously.

"All right," Carlton agrees. He slowly rolls over until he's face to face with Shawn. His fingers work almost lazily at the fly of Shawn's jeans while Carlton kisses him.

\-----

He makes it in just before two in the morning. His body hurts from evasive actions, and his brain is humming restlessly, teeming with what-ifs and your-faults. If he had just _seen_. "Lassie," Shawn's voice is gentle, just in front of him, his hand touching Carlton's arm. His hand is trembling. Carlton had called to tell him about the shootout, explaining why he was late, telling Shawn that he was fine.

He's really not.

He's kissing Shawn roughly before he realizes what he wants. Shawn's responding tentatively, still frightened, unsure. Carlton is tired, exhausted really, could use a good eight hours. But her name was Vanessa Hewitt, and she'd still be alive if he had just been better. If he had solved the case even an hour earlier.

"Punish me," he snarls against Shawn's lips.

Shawn pushes him away, but instead of taking control, he backs away from Carlton. "No."

"I deserve it." Carlton cocks his head to the side, his smirk slightly manic at Shawn's resistance. "You said you wanted me to be good detective. Or is that only when it's convenient?"

Shawn's voice is low, commanding Carlton's attention and energy. "You want to be punished because the girl's dead. And I'm not gonna do it."

Carlton sneers, "Fuck you, Spencer."

The tables turn so quickly that Carlton's head spins. Shawn's hand presses hard against his chest, one of his feet hooking under Carlton's ankle so that he actually falls back against the door. For a moment, Shawn stands taller than him, his head lifted imperiously. Carlton's hands flatten on the door, and he's about to push himself up when Shawn crowds his space. His hand grips Carlton's jaw harshly, thumb rubbing a smooth line across his shadow of stubble as he murmurs.

"I'll punish you, Carlton. Because you missed the bruise on the first body that matched the suspect's ring. Because you didn't even think to tail him from his job to where he kidnapped her because you had convinced yourself it couldn't be him. Because you ignored what your eyes and your gut told you." Shawn glares down at him, and Carlton's eyes slowly lower, his heart pounding in his chest. "But I'll do it tomorrow. After I kiss you awake and let you know how much I fucking care about you. I mean, the heart attack you almost gave me tonight, Lassie. After I remind you that you can't save everyone and that the really important thing is that you're alive."

"No, it's not." Carlton pulls himself out of the moment, slowly pushing off the door and moving his feet so that he can stand again. "If I have to... I'd do whatever it took, Shawn. I'm second priority."

Shawn looks up at him with understanding and caring and Carlton's chest feels suddenly constricted and tight. "Not to me, you're not." He leans against Carlton and kisses him gently. His lips flutter over Carlton's, "I'm selfish."

Carlton's hands clasp Shawn's waist as he surges forward to kiss Shawn again.

\-----

He asked for this. He deserves this. It's what he wants, but he just can't let go. He should let Shawn have it all, let Shawn strip his worries and mistakes away the same way Shawn slowly tore down all of his defenses and inhibitions. Carlton wants to, but he can't. He has too much pride and too much guilt to let go of.

His grip on the headboard tightens, his knuckles white, paler than his so-pale skin. His head drops and he grunts as Shawn's hand falls again. His teeth ache from being clenched together. All of him hurts from how hard he's trying to keep everything inside. A small groan escapes his lips as Shawn's hands spread out on his cheeks, roughly fondling the abused flesh.

"Shut up." Shawn's voice is cruel, unyielding, exactly what Carlton needs. He's constantly amazed when Shawn reveals how focused he can be – they had been entwined together, both of them spent and slowly coming down from their climax high when Shawn had gently asked, "Do you still want me to hurt you?"

He'd barely murmured "Please" before Shawn's hands were everywhere, arranging Carlton into position, harsh orders snapping through the air. 

Shawn's palm cracks against his skin, and Carlton bites down to keep from making more noise. "Do you know why I'm punishing you?"

"Because I asked for it." He smiles grimly when Shawn chuckles, the slightest slip in character, and gives a small pat to Carlton's flank.

Shawn leans over him, coming close enough to murmur, "One more smart-ass comment, and I'll walk out that door." Another pat, feels more like a light smack, a threat. "Do you understand?"

Carlton slowly nods, muttering "Yes, sir" when it becomes clear that Shawn's waiting for a verbal response.

"Good boy," Shawn says and settles back, tracing a finger down Carlton's tense spine as he does. "Now tell me why you're being punished."

Carlton takes a deep breath, "Because I didn't see what I should have." It's not enough. Admitting that he's a failure... he's done that enough already. He needs more.

"And why do you need to be punished for it?" Carlton doesn't know the answer Shawn wants. The honest answer – because she's dead and if he's hurting, if he pays for it then maybe he can live with himself – would get him gentle caresses and Shawn refusing to give him what he needs. Shawn's hands rub the back of Carlton's thighs, his touch more painful than pleasant. "Because, Carlton, when you fail, when you do something so monumentally _stupid_ ," his fingers dig in, roughly bruising, forcing Carlton's knees farther apart on the bed to relieve just some of the pain, "as you did yesterday... When you miss the obvious, it makes me look bad."

Carlton almost laughs. Shawn's trying, but it's flimsy at best. No one knows that they do this. And Shawn takes great pleasure in showing Carlton up in public, so Carlton doing badly only gives him more glory most of the time. As if sensing his doubt, Shawn's teeth dig brutally into the fullest part of one of Carlton's cheeks. Carlton shouts in pain, bucking against Shawn's mouth, but Shawn's hands hold him still.

"I own you, Carlton." The words are a rush of warm air, making the sensitive ache on his skin dig deeper into his body. He says it again, punctuating each word with a stinging nip to Carlton's backside. "I. Own. You. When you fail, it reflects badly on me. Whether anyone else sees it or not, I do. And I'm the one that matters."

"I'm being punished because you're vain." Carlton tries to sound unimpressed, but his voice is rough, and he can feel warmth pooling between his legs as he starts to get hard again.

"Hell yeah." He can hear Shawn's smile, but the stinging slap that follows is enough to convince him that they're still going. "And if I have to do this every day until you learn how to do your job right, then I will." Quietly, intimately, he adds, "And you won't be getting off on it." He flicks Carlton's penis accusingly. "Understand?" He gives a light pat to the bite mark, an invitation to stop if Carlton's had enough.

"Yes, sir," Carlton says and finally lets Shawn break him down.

\-----

They've been building up to something all day. The tension's been so thick that Carlton was surprised earlier when their brief touches weren't like lightning, a loud crack of thunder before they threw themselves at each other and succumbed to the storm. He's willing to blame it all on Shawn. Shawn licked his lips when Carlton rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Shawn sucked on the yellow popsicle like he had something to prove. Shawn was making an ass of himself so Carlton would have to manhandle him away to someplace more private.

"Gonna use the handcuffs?" Shawn asked softly. 

His breathing hitched as Carlton leaned close. "You're not going to walk straight for a week, Spencer." Shawn had winked at him and sped off on his motorcycle in the direction of Carlton's house. The remaining hour of work had been almost agonizing.

When Shawn isn't in the living room waiting for him, Carlton gets paranoid. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but he had been so _sure_. He's gotten better at reading Shawn's moods – not that he has ever been subtle – and can usually tell the difference between Shawn being his normal, flirty self and when Shawn's practically pleading to be bent over Carlton's desk.

"Shawn?" He calls out, just to be sure, and even though there's no response, something feels off. He puts his keys in the bowl on the table by the front door and starts to loosen his tie, taking slow steps through the living room.

The rug on the wooden floor has a corner turned up. Carlton pauses, breathes. Someone's been here. Part of him insists that Shawn tripped over it this morning when he headed out to work and didn't bother to fix it. Carlton shakes his head and tries not to notice that the angle of the couch is several degrees wrong – he's pretty sure he threw Shawn on it a few days ago then never moved it back. 

Shawn put his picture up on what he calls the wall of sworn enemies in the place Despereaux no longer occupies. His alleged crimes are Being Too Damn Sexy, Owning and Operating a Pineapple Speakeasy, and The Theft of the Heart and Most Other Anatomies of A Certain Head Detective. The pineapple speakeasy is new. He imagines Shawn coming up with that idea and insisting on printing out an entirely new 'poster' to put up on the wall. Carlton shakes his head, but he can't help but smile.

He pulls his tie off and makes his way to the bedroom, noting the new magnets that somehow migrated from Shawn's fridge to his and the television remote sitting on one of the counters in the kitchen. Small splashes of chaos are his penance for adoring Shawn more than any sane person should. He can live with it. He can even embrace it in quiet moments when there's no one watching.

Then he sees the pineapple sitting innocently on the bed, nestled against his neatly-fluffed pillows. And he _knows_. Carlton turns so fast that Shawn actually yelps in surprise. Carlton doesn't really expect Shawn to actually be less than a step behind him. But he can work with it.

He slams Shawn into the wall across from the bedroom door, smiling almost pleasantly. "Spencer," his amiable tone has a dangerous edge. Shawn's pupils dilate even as he attempts a carefree smile.

"Hey, Lassie. Fancy seeing you here."

Carlton crushes Shawn against the wall, kissing him brutally. Shawn fights back, hands groping at Carlton's clothes, one leg hooked around Carlton's, dragging him closer. No matter how hard he fights, Carlton's size, strength, and superior positioning give him a distinct upper hand. It isn't long before Shawn surrenders, tilting his head back in submission and letting Carlton kiss and bite his throat.

His hand cups Shawn's slowly hardening erection through his jeans, and Carlton ignores the quiet pleading noise Shawn makes as he slows down. He nibbles gently at Shawn's neck, grinning when Shawn's fingers grip tighter onto his clothes, his breath hitching in his chest. Carlton continues lightly fondling him through his jeans. He says, "You will not stop us to ask me inane questions. I saw the corner of the rug, the angle of the couch, the pineapple speakeasy on your Wanted poster," he pauses long enough to grind his palm against Shawn's erection, grinning devilishly when Shawn arches towards him with a whining moan, "the magnets on the fridge, and the remote on the cabinet."

"So you didn't see the pineapple?" Shawn asks, and Carlton growls, shifting one of his legs between Shawn's while his free hand manages to find its way up Shawn's shirt.

He murmurs in a low tone, "What do you think?" Shawn grinds against his thigh with a quiet gasp. Carlton hitches his leg up against Shawn's groin, giving him something solid to thrust against. Shawn's hands grope at Carlton and pull him closer for a desperate kiss. Shawn whines softly, unhappily when Carlton steps away. "You have five seconds to make that pineapple vanish and get on the bed."

"One." Shawn's eyes, dark with lust, widen at the count. He takes off quickly, tripping over his own feet. Carlton stays where he is, listening to the sounds of quiet panic. He smiles.

\-----

He hates Shawn. It's a special kind of hate that feels frequently like teenage gotta-touch-you-everywhere-right-this-instant lust and every now and then like a more adult I-want-to-wake-up-every-morning-next-to-you love. But, oh yes, it's definitely hatred he feels for Shawn Spencer.

Every muscle in his body feels tense, from his toes that are curled so tightly they ache to his hands that are clutching the headboard for dear life. As if the handcuffs weren't enough to keep him grounded. He feels heat along his back, Shawn's body stretching above his. His lips move, a whisper of motion in the hairs on the nape of Carlton's neck, "Such a good boy, Carlton. You're being so. good." He punctuates the last two words with hard thrusts of his fingers, the angle awkward and shallow and continuing to deny Carlton the stimulation he craves.

Carlton's eyes go to the alarm clock, already knowing that Shawn turned it down on the nightstand specifically so Carlton wouldn't know how long he's been Shawn's plaything. Shawn's been toying with him for what feels like ages, filthy words, teasing touches, promises that Carlton knows he intends to fulfill eventually. The question is just when. And what Carlton will have to do to earn it.

Shawn's mouth slides down his back, tracing the tense arch of his spine. His free hand combs down Carlton's front, and Carlton knows better than to hope even though he does anyway. Shawn's fingers twine gently through the curls of his body hair, little pinpricks of pain mixing with his helpless anticipation as Shawn's hand gets closer to where his erection hangs, hot and heavy, leaking precome onto the towel Shawn put beneath him when he handcuffed him to the bed.

Carlton pushes his hips up towards Shawn's light touch, refusing to whimper, whine, or plead for Shawn to touch him. "Poor Lassie," Shawn coos softly against the small of his back, kissing his skin softly while his hand wraps loosely around him. "So mistreated. Neglected." Carlton groans softly in agreement, trying not to thrash when Shawn strokes him too lightly to be anything more than added torment.

"Gonna make you feel good," Shawn promises, but he moves his hand away again. The two fingers inside of him slow their pace but deepen their thrusts. Carlton widens his stance, pushing back just a little the next time Shawn goes in. He brushes Carlton's prostate, and Carlton bucks, trying to get friction inside or outside or any way he can even though he knows Shawn's not going to give it to him until he's ready.

"Shh," Shawn soothes. His free hand pats Carlton's thigh gently. "Hush. Be good for me." Carlton wants to protest – he's trying so hard, but Shawn's not making it easy. Shawn never makes it easy. Just when he's starting to calm, Shawn's clever fingers crook and rub and Carlton can't even enjoy it because he's trying to give Shawn what he wants. His entire body tenses as he holds still and stays that way when Shawn relents.

"So _good_ ," Shawn praises against his skin, kissing gently as he makes his way lower. He pulls his hand out, and Carlton feels bereft, a whine forming quietly in his throat before he can remind himself not to. "Don't worry," Shawn reassures him. "Not going anywhere. Not gonna tease you like that, Lassie."

Except he would. He's done it before. Carlton trusts Shawn, yes. He trusts Shawn with everything now. Even knowing he's being lied to, he trusts that Shawn has his reasons and that, eventually, when the time is right, he'll have the truth. He trusts Shawn enough to leave himself completely at Shawn's mercy. But trusting Shawn doesn't mean not being suspicious of him. His... lover? Significant other? Hell if he knows. Shawn's a devious bastard and that's all there is to it.

Three lube-slicked fingers push into him. Carlton bites his lip to keep himself focused and unmoving. They thrust shallowly, more concerned with loosening the ring of muscle than getting Carlton off. He tries not to think about the likelihood of Shawn fucking him. Trying to guess Shawn's game is pointless because the moment he thinks he has it all figured out, the rules change and leave him spinning on his head. 

The only way to keep up is to let Shawn lead and follow faithfully at his heels. Not that he'd ever admit that out loud. Especially not to Shawn who has a certain way of saying "Good Lassie" that makes him flush with embarrassment and anger and a tiny hint of arousal.

Shawn must sense that he's not paying attention anymore. He's abandoned his body to sink deeper into his own thoughts, but all of that burns away, shocks him back to the surface when Shawn twists his fingers harshly. "Ignoring me?" He sounds smug instead of hurt which puts Carlton immediately on edge. That doesn't bode well. Shawn tsks and removes his fingers, wiping them on the back of Carlton's leg. "Didn't mean to bore you, Carlton."

Carlton shakes his head. Shawn has never once been boring. This is certainly not boring, it's just that it was getting to be too much so he did the only thing he could. Shawn's hand caresses his side gently, cutting off Carlton's growing fears before they can really take root. "I- I'm-"

"No," Shawn insists. "Don't talk." Carlton closes his eyes and waits. It's all he can do. Shawn's hands cup his cheeks, gently massaging them with his palms. Shawn nibbles at the skin of his lower back, licking at him not long after. Shawn's mouth presses soft kisses and licks lower and lower.

Carlton's eyes widen. "Shawn," his voice is quiet, pleading. Shawn nips one of his cheeks before using his hands to pull them apart. He blows cool air over Carlton's entrance, and Carlton bucks up, trying to dislodge him. "Please." He feels vulnerable and exposed and there's nothing he can do about it but beg. He's past the point of dignity. "Anything else. Whatever you want, just not that."

"Carlton." It's enough to silence him. He bites down on his tongue. He _hates_ being rimmed, and Shawn knows it. But Shawn enjoys doing it to him and always makes it worth his time, but fuck fuck _fuck_ he doesn't want it.

But he doesn't say anything more. He gives up and clutches the headboard and buries his head against his arm, waiting for Shawn to get it over with. Trusting Shawn to make it good. "Good Lassie," he says, and Carlton thinks he shouldn't want to hear that as much as he does.

He groans unhappily at the first touch of Shawn's tongue. The first swipe is slow, his muscle twitching under the warm, wet heat of Shawn's mouth. Carlton bites into his arm – it's the nearest thing he can get to, and it'll keep him grounded as Shawn continues to lick him. His traitorous body starts to relax, and he hears Shawn chuckle behind him.

The thing is, his body loves it. It drives him wild, completely out of his head until Carlton can't think about or feel anything more than what Shawn's doing to him. It makes him completely lose control, and Carlton may trust Shawn with everything but he doesn't trust much of anything else. It's hard letting go. Maybe that's why Shawn makes him.

Shawn's thumb brushes across his entrance. The soft pad hooks just in the edge, and Carlton clenches his teeth down on his arm as Shawn's tongue dips into him. It isn't much at first, just a taste, a threat of things to come. But Carlton feels the slick, slippery flexible muscle inside of him and he's lost. He bites down harder on his arm – it's going to leave a mark, and he's going to be in trouble because Shawn likes hearing him. But it's the only thing keeping him from begging. For Shawn to stop, to keep going, to do whatever he wants to Carlton just please stop teasing and make up his mind.

Shawn's thumb touches the ring of muscle again, causing it to twitch in anticipation. Shawn laughs gently, "I wish I could keep you like this." Carlton groans and shakes his head, the movement making him stop biting his arm. "With every part of you wanting me so badly." Shawn hums softly, rubbing his hands over the back of Carlton's thighs. "Chained to my bed."

"S'my bed," he points out.

"You're mine. So everything of yours is mine too." Carlton nods in silent agreement. It's true. It's been true for months. The only things Carlton has left are his badge and his guns, but they're extensions of himself. Shawn need only ask, and if he was serious, respectful, and in need of them, they'd be at his disposal too.

Shawn's hands come back up to rub soothingly at his cheeks. Carlton relaxes in spite of himself, pressing back into Shawn's hands. Shawn sits in suspicious silence, continuing his gentle massage. He's thinking, which is fine, a rare treat for Shawn, really, but Carlton's hard and needing and Shawn thinking in bed usually means those two problems aren't going to be resolved anytime soon.

"Shawn," he pleads, trying to get his attention.

"Mhm?" Shawn spreads him again. "Got a problem, Lassie?" Carlton rolls his hips beneath Shawn's hands, silently answering him. "Pretty big one, I'd say." Carlton sees through the flattery – Shawn's dragging out how long he can go without really touching Carlton. "I'll help you with that. Soon. Soon, I promise." Shawn asks softly, "What did my note say?"

"What?" No, not this game. Not _now_. He tries to wriggle Shawn off of him, but Shawn grips onto him tightly, hindering his movements, keeping Carlton at his mercy. Carlton remembers the sticky note Shawn stuck to his monitor, remembers trying to decipher the random sequence of letters for several minutes to no avail before crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash on his way out to a crime scene.

"You heard me."

"Shawn, no."

"Who's in charge right now, Carlton?" His voice has that hard edge to it – the promise of punishment if Carlton doesn't play along.

"You are."

"Good boy. So that means you should?"

"Behave and obey." He grinds his teeth when he forces it out. Shawn pretends not to notice.

"Exactly. So what did the note say?"

"It was a random string of letters."

"Wroooong," Shawn sing-songs. "And even if it was, you could still tell me what they were. You're not trying."

He's edging towards being pissed off instead of turned on, and it isn't exactly a fun transition to make. Shawn gentles. "I'm not playing fair," Shawn says softly, soothingly, his fingers pressing close to the ring of muscle around his entrance. Carlton agrees with a stiff nod. "Getting you all worked up like this. I'm the worst."

"We can deal with that later," Shawn decides after a moment. "After I take care of you."

Shawn presses his mouth back to Carlton's entrance, his tongue gently coaxing its way in. Carlton bites down on air – missing his arm, leaving his mouth open to make every moan and whimper that Shawn loves drawing out of him. He can feel the slip and slide of Shawn's tongue as he slowly presses into him. Carlton's body trembles from the effort of trying to hold still, trying not to move because it might hurt Shawn. 

It's a battle he loses. The intimate, dirty feeling of Shawn's tongue slowly fucking him becomes too much too quickly. He rocks back into Shawn as much as Shawn's grip allows, circling his hips as he tries to grind back against Shawn's mouth. His eyes clench closed, and his mouth hangs open. The flood of praise and pleading for more bursts out of his mouth, worship for Shawn and Shawn's clever tongue.

Carlton whimpers when Shawn stops, riding so close to the edge of his climax. He rolls his hips, trying to open his legs wider, attempting to find some friction on the towel between his knees. One of Shawn's hands pulls him up. "Please," Carlton begs, shuddering with need, " _please_."

Shawn presses against him, his lubed erection sliding up between Carlton's cheeks. "Lassie. I want." He should be ordering, taking, but he's asking, his hands rubbing gently at Carlton's back, waiting for an answer.

"Do it." Or maybe it comes out as "Do me." Carlton isn't sure. But Shawn gets the idea. Shawn grips his hip with one hand to keep him still while the other helps line him up with Carlton's entrance. Carlton eyes stay closed, focusing on the feeling of Shawn without any barriers between them. Carlton tugs on the handcuffs again, the slight pain around his wrists keeping him from becoming completely lost in the hot feeling of Shawn inside of him, slowly rocking forward, pushing himself deeper and deeper.

It's too much. Too good, the feeling of bare flesh inside of him. They've never done this before, and Carlton doesn't know _why_ when it feels like this. The slight burn of his stretch around Shawn is familiar, but not like this. Everything is Shawn. Shawn's hands, Shawn's erection, Shawn's body as he leans over Carlton, pressing his forehead against Carlton's back. Shawn's voice as he murmurs "Mine" into Carlton's skin, and Carlton thinks it's the truest thing Shawn's ever said.

They take a moment, and Carlton could swear that they're breathing together. That Shawn's heartbeat against his back in in sync with his own. He knows better, of course. It's all sentimentality, but he feels it, so, for a moment at least, it seems undeniably true.

"Yours," Carlton confesses. "I'm yours."

Shawn laughs softly, "Don't I know it." He nuzzles briefly against Carlton's back before rocking his hips back and pushing in slowly again. Carlton moans softly, pushing back against Shawn, trying to get more. He's still so close, even in spite of the pain of penetration. It isn't going to take much to send him over the edge.

He almost expects Shawn to push his orgasm back, keep him wanting until after Shawn's finished, but Shawn's lube-slicked hand wraps around him, stroking him at the same slow pace as his thrusts into Carlton. "Don't hold back," Shawn orders gently, his voice hot on Carlton's back. "Want you to come for me."

Carlton tries to rock into Shawn's thrusts and his strokes, rolling his hips and trying to get more of everything. More of Shawn. He moans when Shawn brushes across his prostate, and he feels Shawn's lips press a kiss to his back as he does it again. Carlton arches into the body on top of him as every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

Shawn murmurs in a steady rhythm. "So good, Carlton. Hot and tight for me. All mine. Mine, mine, mine, and you're never gonna forget it. If I have to fuck you every night like this, if I want to. God, I want to. Wanna feel you around me or inside me until there's not even two of us anymore. Attached forever." He keeps going, his pace speeding to match the beat of his voice which keeps getting lower, rougher. His hands tighten their respective grips, his teeth digging into Carlton's shoulder blade as Carlton's entire body shudders. He comes hard over Shawn's hand, streaking the towel beneath him. Shawn fucks him through his climax, moaning against the bite mark on Carlton's back as Carlton's body tenses around him.

Shawn slows, his thrusts deep and long as Carlton comes back to himself. One drags over his sensitive prostate, and Carlton winces, his penis twitching with attempted interest even though it continues softening. Shawn's hand moves away, combing down Carlton's front, wiping his own come on him. Carlton feels too good to care. The hand settles on his hip, giving Shawn some extra grip as he thrusts hard into Carlton. He groans – not unhappily, but not entirely pleased either.

"My note," Shawn says, his voice a low growl. "What did it say?"

"Still stuck on that?" Carlton asks with a weak laugh.

"Mhm." Shawn pushes roughly into him, more controlled than before. Carlton isn't sure whether it's dread or excitement he feels when he thinks he's finally guessed Shawn's game. "Gonna be until you tell me what it was. Either deciphered or just what the note said, I'm not picky."

"And if I don't?"

Shawn laughs and it sounds darkly threatening in a way that sends a fresh wave of tingles down Carlton's body. "You will," he promises, kissing the bite mark which throbs in slight pain. "'Cause I'm not gonna stop until you do."

Carlton knows a challenge when he hears it. Shawn's daring him to beg and plead and make offers to get him to stop making the sensitive parts of his body cringe in pleasure and pain. He's not going to give in that easily. He tries to remember Shawn's note which was hard to begin with, harder now that he's feeling sated and sluggish. And Shawn continues being a distraction, which is possibly the most callous Carlton has ever been about sex in his life. He shouldn't smile at that, really, but he does.

Shawn's pace is steady, his breathing hard but even. Shawn has so much more control than he likes to admit to the outside world. Carlton wonders how long he could go like this, denying himself what he wants just to prove some sort of point. On principle, Shawn doesn't like being denied anything. He begs so prettily to get what he wants – Carlton has so many fond memories of Shawn breaking down, his voice strained, body moving restlessly even when Carlton tells him to stop.

"Carlton," Shawn's voice has a waver to it, but he's still very much in control. Carlton knows that Shawn begs because Shawn likes begging, not because Shawn can't take any more. Shawn can stand being patient, controlled if he has to. Which means Carlton should probably do what he wants.

"It started with a V and a Y."

"Good," Shawn says, but Carlton's stuck after that. He remembered those two letters because what sort of strange message was Shawn trying to send with those?

Shawn sinks into him, stilling for a moment and Carlton knows he's getting close. He clamps tight around Shawn in spite of his protesting body. Shawn bucks, forcing himself in deeply with a hiss of a gasp between his teeth. His fingernails dig into Carlton's hips. "Don't," he warns with a snarl that so doesn't fit him.

He says, "Bird."

"Wrong." Carlton's eyebrows draw down. "Close," Shawn soothes as he gives another small thrust. "But wrong."

Right. It hadn't been bird. It had been close, which had him confused at the time. "B, I, and R then."

"Yes." Shawn allows himself a few more rolls of his hips, pushing himself closer, like Carlton's going to get it any second now. "Three more letters," Shawn says finally.

"A, B, C, D, Ow!" Shawn pinches his side.

"Try," he says, a certain pleading in his voice that makes Carlton realize that this actually means something. It isn't about getting him to play the game or about getting off. There's something else to it, something Shawn's taking seriously, and Carlton wants to break out of the handcuffs and kiss him until they're both dizzy from the lack of air.

He remembers, "L."

"So close," Shawn assures him or maybe himself. Carlton focuses.

"Another B." The only repeated letter – it had stuck out to him. Shawn thrusts into him with more enthusiasm. One more, then this can be over. Shawn can come, and Carlton can stop taking the abuse to his poor body that is trying so hard to classify what's happening to him as good or bad.

"Yes, yes," Shawn pants.

The last letter is beyond him. "I can't." He's trying. He did so well. Can't it be enough?

"Can," Shawn says. "So can, Lassie. Guess. First letter that comes to mind. It's right there. You got it. You got this." Carlton's head hangs low, and he tries to remember because he doesn't want to disappoint Shawn by getting it wrong. He bites his lip, trying to keep from pleading. "Say it." Shawn growls. "Quit thinking, Carlton, and say. it." He thrusts hard twice, knowing it'll hurt.

Carlton groans, "H." It's wrong. It's so wrong. Completely dead wrong.

But Shawn whispers, "Good Lassie," in that voice that means somehow, impossibly – improbably – he got it right. A few more frantic thrusts and Carlton feels Shawn pulsing inside of him, filling him with a warm wetness that is so strange and foreign that Carlton can't help but wriggle.

Shawn groans and collapses on top of him, and for a good moment, Carlton's knees scream in the agony of their rough treatment coupled with the addition of Shawn's weight. When Shawn pulls out of him, Carlton feels some of his come seep out. He shivers, wanting to get loose so he can go clean it out.

Shawn unlocks the handcuffs, but before Carlton can say anything, Shawn's mouth is on his as he practically flings himself at Carlton. Carlton collapses on the bed, the cuffs slipping off his wrists as Shawn pins him down, kissing him again and again as if he hadn't just gotten himself off.

When he leans away, his face is lit by that brilliant, beautiful grin and Carlton wants to lay there forever with Shawn in his arms regardless of anything else. "Vy-birl-bah?" Carlton asks after a moment, and Shawn's grin fades, replaced with rare nervousness. He kisses Carlton again, softly, for a long moment and something in Carlton's always paranoid mind worries that Shawn's assurances of belonging to him earlier were somehow a prelude to a goodbye.

"Wanna know what it means?" he asks timidly, taking one of Carlton's hands in his own. Carlton brings the other up on the bed, brushing it gently through Shawn's sweat-damp hair. He swallows nervously and nods, so scared and worried at the way Shawn looks away, his normal bravado failing him exactly when Carlton needs it not to.

Carlton sees the words shape on Shawn's lips as he tests them out, and it feels like his heart stops or thunders or completely tears out of his chest and abandons him to give itself completely and wholly to Shawn. Shawn says softly, "I love you." Then, he looks at Carlton with such uncertainty and fear in those familiar eyes. He bites his lip, every part of him begging. Not because he likes begging, but because he needs Carlton.

It's too much. Carlton pulls Shawn against him, not caring about the stick of come and sweat or the dirty sheets or anything else in the world except how Shawn's heart is racing in his chest, thundering as loudly as Carlton's. Shawn buries his head against Carlton's shoulder, his arms going around Carlton and clinging to him as if this might be the last time they ever touch.

"I love you, Shawn." The words are barely more than a whisper, but they sound so loud. Like a confession, a secret he was supposed to keep under lock and key, close to his heart, never letting it see the light of day.

He doesn't know how long they lay there, holding onto each other, hearts slowing to a normal pace when both of them realize that the world isn't – that they aren't – about to end. Carlton doesn't know how long it takes them to stop clinging or how long they rest, heads against each other, sharing shallow breaths before he closes the gap, kissing Shawn like he's supposed to kiss the person he's in love with.

It could be an eternity for all Carlton knows. For all he cares. For all he wants.

"I love you." And it sounds like the truest thing either of them have ever said.

\-----

Woody's going over the marks on the body, but Carlton's eyes narrow as he peers at something Woody didn't point out. "Why is the skin around his finger green?"

"He was wearing a copper ring. It's very nice. Thinking of keep-" Woody shuts up promptly when Carlton levels a glare at him. "Just a reaction his skin had to the copper, that's all." Woody shrugs.

Carlton looks the body over. He looks like a corpse like you'd see on television, perfectly sculpted, artfully bloodied and scraped. His vanity outlasted his lifespan – he simply refuses to look anything less than his best. "Man like this, wearing jewelry that would stain him like that?" O'Hara and Guster are both looking at him like he's lost it, but Shawn's expression is knowing, confident, and he feels like he's on the right track. "Not without a reason."

"Can we see the ring?" Shawn asks.

"Sure, I'll go get it."

Shawn pins him in an empty hallway on their way back up to the bullpen, shoving his tongue into Carlton's mouth hungrily as his hands grope at his suit. "God, that was _hot_ ," he breathes before kissing him again.

"Come on, Shawn," he says gently after Shawn breaks off the kiss, pressed close against him. "We have a case to solve."

"Mhm," Shawn agrees, still taking the chance to snuggle close to Carlton for a moment before stepping back. He straightens Carlton's suit to perfection before peering at him with timid nervousness. "Vy-birl-bah, Lassie."

He reaches out and takes Shawn's hand and squeezes it, trying to put as much reassurance and comfort as he can into a simple touch. "Vy-birl-bah, Shawn." He lets go, and they take off down the hallway together. Carlton's going to miss something – he's almost sure of that. It somehow always happens when Shawn's around, and Shawn always sees and knows then feels the need to test Carlton more. Push him to his limits.

Carlton would be lying if he said that he isn't looking forward to it.


End file.
